


Stocking Filler

by Jay_eagle



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Christmas Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-09 02:36:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5522288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jay_eagle/pseuds/Jay_eagle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Last but by no means least... of course, some fluffy Marlas-y goodness. Happy Christmas, fandot, one and all, wherever you may be!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stocking Filler

“Douglas, where _are_ you?” Martin tried to sound less annoyed than he felt.

 

“I’m sorry!” Douglas’ voice was barely audible on the crackly phone connection. There seemed to be an insanely high-pitched carol playing in the background, and judging by the noise, Douglas was surrounded by bustling people. “I’ll be home… soon. I hope.”

 

“You _hope_?” Martin put his hand on his hip. “Dinner’s nearly ready! Emily and Verity are here!” _And raising merry hell,_ he thought to himself. The girls had been possessed by Christmas excitability and were squealing up and down the stairs, running in and out of the kitchen periodically and nearly tripping Martin up.

 

“I know…” Douglas seemed at his most apologetic. “I’ll make it as soon as I can.”

 

“What are you doing, anyway?” Martin turned to stir the gravy, which had begun to spit ominously.

 

“Umm… Nothing.” It wasn’t Douglas’ smoothest lie; he seemed unusually hassled.

 

Martin threw up his hands, then groaned as he realised he’d splattered gravy up the wall from the spoon. “Oh, fine,” he groused. “Just come home soon, alright?”

 

“Wilco.” Douglas hung up.

 

Three hours later, Martin was fuming on the sofa when at last he heard the front door swing open. He debated whether to make Douglas find him, but his crossness drove him to stomp furiously into the hallway – an entrance which would have been impressive had he not tripped over the wire for the Christmas lights on his way out of the lounge. He reeled into the hall, only to be saved at the last second from crashing into the bannister by Douglas’ hastily outflung arm.

 

“Steady there!” Douglas set him back on his feet. “Been at the sherry already?”

 

“ _Where have you been?_ ” Martin hissed, conscious that Verity and Emily were getting ready for bed upstairs.

 

Douglas’ shoulders slumped. “Hell on Earth,” he said, and struggled out of his coat.

 

“What?” Martin was perplexed, until he spotted all the carrier bags piled untidily by the front door. “Douglas, honestly.” He folded his arms. “You _didn’t_ leave all your shopping till Christmas Eve.”

 

“No I didn’t!” Douglas said, indignantly. “I ordered it all online.”

 

“Then what’s all this?”

 

“It… didn’t come.”

 

Martin let his arms drop in astonishment. “None of it?”

 

Douglas looked so utterly distraught that all the fight went out of Martin. “Not a thing. And the girls are expecting Santa to arrive tonight…” Douglas pushed his hair wearily out of his eyes. “I couldn’t let them down.”

 

“Oh, love.” Martin wrapped Douglas in a giant hug. “You should have said.”

 

“I could barely hear you on the phone.” Douglas winced, and Martin pulled away.

 

“What’s the matter?”

 

Douglas gingerly felt at his ribs. “Had a fight with a hideous woman for the last Sing-Along Elsa doll.”

 

“She hit you?” Martin was appalled.

 

“No, just got me with her elbow.” Douglas smiled wanly. “I’ll live.” He glanced back at the doorway. “At least long enough to wrap all this up.”

 

Martin had rarely heard Douglas sound so exhausted, and sympathy welled up inside him. “Go and eat your dinner. It’s keeping warm in the oven.”

 

“Can’t. Need. To wrap.”

 

“No.” Martin stopped him, and jerked his head at the kitchen. “I’ll do it.”

 

“You will?” Douglas looked simultaneously disbelieving and hopeful.

 

Martin nodded. “I’ve seen what you call ‘wrapping’, anyway. I don’t like to think of the shape the girls’ presents will be in once you’ve mangled them.”

 

“You’re a saint.” Douglas kissed Martin, and Martin pushed him away, laughing.

 

“Get lost, Santa.”

 

Douglas’ eyes glinted. “Santa? Does that make you a… _little_ helper?”

 

“It does not.” Martin glared.

 

Douglas chuckled and retreated, and Martin dug out the sticky tape and scissors. He was just beginning his extensive job when Douglas reappeared in the doorway, bringing him a cup of mulled wine (thankfully not Pétrus, this time). The FO held a glass of what Martin presumed was grape juice, and Martin smiled as Douglas saluted him with it.

 

Douglas grinned. “Thank you.” He held the glass high. “To your very good… elf.”

 

“ _Douglas_!”


End file.
